A momentous day has occurred.
I left the house,
in a car,
that I was driving![Insert girly squeal mixed with the Hallelujah chorus]
After over a month of near house arrest, I busted out the front door like it was my last Economics class in college.
(Well, actually I just had 2 surgeries…so I carefully opened the front door with my non-stitched-together-chest-muscle-arm and then took the steps one at a time so as not to disturb the 7 layers of stitches in my abdomen…but…well…I can assure you it was with much pep and enthusiasm!)
The fact that post busting down the door I drove to the doctor and then immediately came home to take a nap is neither here nor there. I did it myself!
Also most importantly one of the following items did not bust out the front door:
2. Penelope the Pacemaker
3. A gastric fistula
I know. It’s the holiday season and I’m asking a hard question to your frazzled brain. My most sincere apologies. I’ll give you a hint: it begins with an F and ends with “istula.”
Fistula free, baby.
Despite the fact that this fistula formed prior to surgery #1 and took 2.5 weeks to prove to the world (ahem, medical community) that it existed, the timing ended up being rather fortuitous. Even at only 3 weeks old, Penelope the Pacemaker proved her place in the world when I was on a clear liquid diet for over a week and my heart was supposed to just keep beating every minute of the day (I’m so demanding. I like it when my lungs breathe too. So high maintenance, I know).
Let me just assure you, when your only clear options are broth, coconut water and cucumber juice, your blood pressure doesn’t exactly top the charts.
Furthered by the fact that my specialty-compounded-yellow-dye-free-non-narcotic-pain-medicine required to be taken with food.
Ya know, to avoid dizziness.
In other news, post surgery #1 I have developed an irregular heartbeat.
Take some time to soak that in.
I think I asked my cardiologist for clarification a minimum of 6 times.
Headline news: “Lady gets pacemaker inserted and develops an irregular heartbeat.”
Please refer to the business card: Surprising the world with the rare and unusual since 1983.
Turns out in very rare cases (cough cough, when your name is Lydia Buschenfeldt), it can take up to 3 months for your heart to adjust to an ablation. And in the extra reassuring words of my fabulous (no really, he’s awesome) cardiologist: “We don’t really worry until January.”
Stupendous. Anyone on a first name basis with Mr. Claus, by chance?
I’ve also been informed that I have officially been sent every single get well card in the Target 99 cents collection, and therefore I have reached my limit for medical bonanzas. So my goal for the month of December is to stay at least 100 feet away from anyone holding a knife and a needle, and whining about the diminutive nature of my veins.
I’m 8 days in, so far so good.
And if this goal should extend to, ya know, more than just December…I wouldn’t be mad.
But more importantly, anyone want to meet up?